A Blade and a Fire, Second Verse [ Closed ]

[Barbatos]

Continued from A Blade and a Fire, First Verse

3rd Day of Searing, 122 A.V.

Ah, so she could give as good as she could take.

For a few moments, the sable-skinned man shared a chuckle with the ivory-haired woman. What had begun as a simple meeting of strangers had bubbled into something more - at least in Barbatos' mind. For the first time since the Dreadfall, he found himself struggling to keep his mind focused on the present. Struggling to keep the flood of grief from bubbling into the surface. Their conversation thus far had shaken him, yes. But, there was also a silver lining. Today marked the first time that the Sellsword had smiled this much.

When he sat among the city's taverns or went on his various tasks, he rarely had smiled. Let alone joked about. Yet, for a brief shining moment, the one called Faelora reminded Barbatos of who he was before the storms. To say that he was quietly grateful for this fact was an understatement.

"I consider it a high honor to be lumped together with Azazoth, thank you very much." came his retort, complete with a toothy grin. Throughout the banter, Barbatos missed the flame which had claimed her cheeks. And now, his focus had shifted towards her arm. She presented the limb and it was adorned with trinkets and tattoos. Yet these were not his focus. Gingerly, he guided her wrist to rest upon his offhand's palm whilst his dominant hand opened her fingers.

"Hmm..." he said. Faelora quipped about him reading her, which caused the man to chuckle lightly. "I can't read lines, but..."

His dominant hand guided her hand to turn over, exposing her knuckles to his view. Carefully, he inspected. He was looking for callouses or skin that was rough upon the edges of her hand. These were the tell-tale signs of experience wielding a weapon or tool for lengthy periods of time. If she gazed upon his own hands, for example, she'd find such indicators galore.

"I can tell that you won't be wielding a sword like mine." His dominant hand then gingerly squeezed her forearm and bicep, checking for hidden strength. Satisfied, he released her arm from his touch and folded his hands. "You'd need something lighter. Something that doesn't hinder your arm's strength but is still reasonable to contend with. I'd also suggest something shorter than a longsword. Easily concealed with a bit of your...weirdness..." The final word was uttered with the same mirthful tone as before.

"But, if it has a blade, I can teach you how to swing it without killing yourself."

.

[Faelora]

3rd day of Searing, 122
He was handsome, he was witty, he was kind, and he liked Azazoth... Faelora was dying to get another look at his palms.

She had originally only peeked at his lifeline, a most basic and easy-to-spot starting point. But now he had become a puzzle that she yearned to sit with for hours, to pore over the lines on his hands, to read his fate in the stars, to see what tapestry the gods had woven for him. Sure, the witch had been curious about the fates of travelers she met in the past, but few had compelled her like this.

Even more so, as he gently touched her skin, she felt her heart flutter, and bit her lip to suppress the shiver that raced down her spine. The solitary life suited Faelora most of the time, but as fine company as Azazoth was, she still had to admit she might have been a little touch-starved.

Her hands and fingers were fine and typically feminine; aside from slightly thickened skin where she would consistently be holding reigns during a ride, perhaps. The same went for her arm; very little muscle save for what was used to negotiate with her horse or perhaps lift a heavy pot from time to time. As the sable-skinned man told of his findings, her gaze fell to her arm, impressed that he could tell so much from a brief examination... perhaps a tiny piece of her felt a pang of disappointment that it was over.

However, at his suggestion, she froze, her lips forming into a smirk. Her eyes flicked playfully upwards as her hand moved to pluck something from her belt.

It was a small weapon with a handle made from the antler of a deer, its blade shaped like a crescent moon; it was like a sickle, it perhaps a little smaller.

"Would this suffice?" She asked, laying it flat and presenting the handle to Barbatos, "It's called a boline; a ritual tool by trade but I'm sure it wouldn't mind being used in combat. That antler belonged to an aggressive buck, after all."

She paused, his words a harsh reminder of how unskilled she yet was.

"This is just business, of course." came the clarification, with a slight nod, "trading services, that's all, right?"

She bit the inside of her cheek, definitely directing that question to Barbatos, and not herself.

[Barbatos]

Fortune smiled upon the duo.

Though the ivory-haired woman was able to read palms to discern one's inner nature, the sable-skinned man was able to read one's hand to discern their strength. What the Sellsword identified was that Faelora had indeed not come from a background of selling violence. He did see the some signs that she owned Azazoth written upon her flesh, but outside of this she was definitively woman. Barbatos' mind wandered then for the second time in their short encounter. First it was his gaze settling upon her lips, and now the touch of her hands popped into his mind's eye.

It was an uninvited, intrusive thought. One that was quickly banished when Faelora reached for her belt. She was brimming with excitement, as if she had triumphed over an unforeseen challenge. Then, she produced a small weapon that had a crescent moon blade. The handle was fashioned, as she soon identified, out of a deer's antler. He reached for the weapon as it laid flat upon her hand, suddenly noticing when his knuckles brushed upon her palm.

He focused his gaze intently upon the weapon and gave it a practice swing away from the ivory-haired woman. It was light and had the potential to cut clean. Clearly a slicing weapon...already the cogs were moving in Barbatos' head. The fundamentals his father imparted could easily be adapted to a weapon this size. "This'll do just fine." he said, before offering the hilt of the weapon back to its owner. As the weapon hung in the balance, she posed a question.

And Barbatos chuckled lightly. "I'd hardly consider this business." he began. "Business involves clients. Gold. Violence. My life blood is business. But this? This is more akin to friends having each other's backs." After all, Barbatos wasn't offering lessons solely for free food. He genuinely wanted the woman to be able to defend herself. He then moved the handle closer to Faelora, as if their understanding hinged upon her taking back her bolice.

"Assuming, you'd be open to such a thing."

.

[Faelora]

3rd Day of Searing, 122
The Siltori watched him test out the boline, the way it cut through the air, how the curve of the antler sat in the enclosed palm. For a moment she waited with baited breath, releasing it when he voiced his approval. As he handed it back to her, she returned it to its loop on her belt, taken for just a moment by a thought. It was an image, barely that, even. She was standing in a field, feet planted a shoulder-width apart and one hand outstretched, holding her blade. The warrior stood behind her, so close she could feel his breath on her neck, his arm reaching out to correct her form, hand sliding down her arm, fingers running along her skin...

Faelora gritted her teeth, banishing the image with a sharp intake of breath. Thankfully, Barbatos sought to continue the conversation, allowing her something to focus on so she could continue to distract herself from the daydream. At first, she opened her mouth to disagree. The two of them clearly had had very different experiences with the likes of business and trade. However, after a moment's thought, she decided she liked his version better.

"Friends having each other's backs." The witch repeated with a small nod, "I like it."

She swallowed, realising in that moment that for all the freedom her nomadic lifestyle afforded her, Faelora couldn't think of a single person she could call "friend". Maybe it was time for that to change.

"One wonders..." She began playfully as she folded her arms and rested her weight on one hip, "what drives a man to be so eager to befriend a wild and unhinged creature like this one?"

The question was light-hearted, but as it left her lips, she began to wonder... was there a hole in her defences?

[Barbatos]

In but a moment's time, the boline returned to its owner's waist.

As the weapon left the grasp of the sable-skinned man, Barbatos' lips curved into a light smile. The way he posed the question, in tandem with how he offered the weapon back to Faelora, were intentional. He took it that she was accepting his "offer" about the way things could be between them. Nothing as frigid as transactional - she was no client and he was not serving her. But rather, newfound allies in a place far from home. After a brief moment of waiting on baited breath, the Siltori's voice confirmed Barbatos' assumption.

She offered a light nod, which caused the Sellsword's hands to clap together. "Well then, that makes you the first friendly face I've met in Kalzasi." He offered a genuine smile, which was met by that cool smirk of hers. She folded her arms and posed a question - what drove him to befriend such a wild and unhinged creature? The sable-skinned man had to stifle a chuckle.

"We define unhinged differently it seems." he began, before motioning towards her. "Thus far, all you've shown me is basic regard. Even kindness. But some I've met, especially in this trade? They're beasts masquerading as men."

His mind wandered towards a memory. It was one of his earliest jobs - a case that the local enforcement had closed due to a lack of evidence and a pound of gold being exchanged. A young girl had been taken advantage of. And the one responsible? He had far more money. Barbatos' father was paid to make his consequence look like an accident. For there was no more fitting end to such a creature than to literally fall from "grace." Barbatos wished that was the end of his exposure to the evils of men - but selling violence brought it front and center at all times it seemed.

And this woman was not a beast, not in the slightest.

"All jests aside...I've lost enough. I could do nothing to save my family. Nothing. But, if I can use these hands to save someone, anyone, maybe I'm not as useless as I feel."

The admission flowed freely from him, to the point where he was surprised that he was saying the words. Barbatos blinked and then turned away slightly. "And what of you? What drives a 'weird' soul like you to befriend a mercenary?"

[Faelora]

3rd Day of Searing, 122
It seemed that kindness was in short supply in Kalzasi, as the witch was not the only one who had wandered far without finding meaningful friendship. Her smile softened as Barbatos explained. There it was; the reason he was so easy to trust. In her own experience, those who refused to accept that some of the worst monsters were men, often didn't because it revealed something about themselves that they'd rather keep hidden.

The warrior kept speaking though, voicing a powerful confession about what might have influenced him to work as a sellsword. He seemed himself to not quite have expected it to come out, perhaps so abruptly at least, but the Siltori was grateful all the same, and showed as much by stepping forwards slightly.

How long had it been since she had had such a meaningful conversation? Sure, the girl swapped stories with travelers, but when was the last time any of it had felt like it mattered? She knew, of course, that one time with that one traveler, so many months ago now... Barbatos's question pulled her back to the present, and she pulled her tresses of white hair over her shoulder to twirl thoughtfully in her fingers as she put together her answer.

"A couple of reasons. One being the same reason I'm friends with him" She lifted her head to nod towards Azazoth, "do you think I could get that glorified donkey to do anything for me if he didn't want to?"

She stopped for a moment, chewing her lip in thought before finally deciding to continue,

"also... you're dangerous." The girl paused, glancing away to hide the wrestling sensations that came with that admission. The pang of fear she had expected. The shiver? Not so much.

"I would much rather have you beside me than against me."

A pause,

"But that's why I'd befriend a mercenary. You, Barbatos, specifically? You're not like the other dangerous men I've met. You're not... hiding anything, at least, nothing malicious. Trust me, I can usually tell."

[Barbatos]

As the confession fell from the sable-skinned man's lips, the ivory-haired woman stepped closer.

Barbatos found his eyes lingering upon her face. Slowly following the motion of her fingertips as they found ivory locks to fiddle with. The thoughtful expression which claimed her features momentarily...the Sellsword blinked rapidly as she began to speak, forcing himself to ignore whatever that was and to focus upon her words. She answered the question of why she befriended a Sellsword, first, by referring to her steed. The reason was sound, but amusing enough that Barbatos' lips curved into a smile.

But she wasn't finished yet. There was more to her answer - enough so that she chewed upon her lip. Why the simple, thoughtless act of placing her canines upon her seemingly delicate lips drew his attention, he would never know. Yet, he once more had to think to focus upon her answer. And...it was real. Barbatos was a man who literally sold bloodshed for a living. Though he did not think of himself as nothing more than a killer, to fill his belly, violence would need to be enacted. He was dangerous, especially against those he was hired to address. It made perfect sense to want a hurricane to howl in one's favor, rather than against them...

No, there was more.

Why did she befriend him? She called him...different. Different, but in a positive way. He was open - at least he tried to be - and she had taken notice of this. And given that she could read between the lines of one's palm, Barbatos wasn't surprised that she could tell if one was deceitful in nature.

"The same could be said of you." he began. "You see what others cannot - some would call that gift dangerous. But I would much rather have that gift beside me." He paused and shuffled a step closer. "I would much rather have you beside me." The Sellsword had no idea where that came from, so he cleared his throat, determined to smite the awkwardness. "I get the feeling that I can...trust you. You know? That you won't stick a knife in my ribs unless I've earned it."

He then looked to Azazoth and then back to the ivory-haired woman.

"Would you...be interested in heading back to the city with me? To get Azazoth looked after and such?" he began.

.

[Faelora]

3rd Day of Searing, 122
The mercenary surprised her.

The same could be said of you

The Siltori opened her mouth to protest, drawing in a breath in preparation to argue with Barbatos. But before she could, he justified himself... and she couldn't exactly dispute him. More than once her powers had given her enough warning to plan ahead and outsmart those who thought to prey on the girl. More than once she had seen opportunities to prey on others in turn... If ever the temptation arose, she relented to herself that those in her sights would probably call her dangerous.

At his words, the witch offered the warrior a soft smile. It felt... nice, to be trusted, for once, and to feel comfortable enough to trust in turn.

He turned to glance briefly at her horse and Faelora took the opportunity to really take in the sable-skinned man. There was something about him, something special. As yet, she couldn't quite place it. Perhaps it was some great destiny written for him in the stars, perhaps the gods themselves had chosen him for something... or perhaps she just had a crush.

Either way, when he turned back to face her, she knew her answer,

"I would be honoured."

Hm, that didn't sound like her, that sounded like some giddy maiden.

"... Azazoth has served me well, after all," she clarified quickly, "it's the least I could do to get him properly looked over. Besides... I suppose, cities make me nervous. I could do worse than a private escort."

[Barbatos]

It was...good to have a friend.

The thought alone caused a smile to live on the man's face whilst the knife-eared woman mulled over his question. After the Calamity had befallen him home, Barbatos felt alone. It was...nice to have a contradiction to that reality. The comfort was such that, after voicing that he was glad that she was by his head, the quiet that befell her was unnoticed. His mind was otherwise occupied, thinking of how things had been...how things could potentially be looking up. Or, at the very least, be different. Soon, Faelora turned and faced him, soft smile gracing her features. She stated that she would be honored to accompany him into the city, a fact which made Barbatos' face feel as though he was leaning mere inches from the fire.

She quickly qualified that the honor was mostly due to Azazoth, being the noble steed that he was. The sable-skinned man nodded slightly, chuckling for but a moment. "A private escort, eh?" For but a moment, the Sellsword's mind wandered to the other uses of the word. Sure, she meant an armed guardian that could defend against the ills of the city - should it come to that. But, being the man that he was, he couldn't help but briefly entertain the idea of being a man of the evening for her.

He almost asked "are you sure you can you afford me?" but thought better of it.

Instead, he took a bold step forward, smile everlasting, and offered his dominant arm. "Well, my lady, it is my honor to escort the both of you." His tone was alive with a false gravitas, as if he was impersonating a stuffy noble. "Yes, I'm sure we'll have a wonderful time in the city. Shall we?"

Barbatos lasted for a second more before snickering.

.

[Faelora]

A private escort, eh?

Faelora blushed deep red the moment she heard those words, realising how it must have sounded to the swordsman. However, with that dangerously charming smile, the mercenary stepped towards her, offering an arm and speaking in a show of mock pretentiousness. That smile was infectious and she couldn't help but giggle as she dramatically accepted the offered arm, her charms and talismans jangling as she did so.

For a moment she was transported, the siltori seeing them in some open clearing roadside, practicing the intricate dance of swordplay. She saw a stumble, tackle to the ground, rolling and laughing and pausing as the mirth gave way to... something else. Faelora cleared her throat,

"We have plenty of daylight," she proclaimed, stuffing those thoughts back into the recesses of her mind, "help me pack up and we could make some good headway."

The girl paused a moment,

"There's an outpost not too far from here, it would be a good place to resupply if you need anything. I might travel light until we reach the city, I don't want to put anymore strain on Azazoth until his hoof has been looked at."

Another thought niggled at the back of her mind. She imagined camping on the road, waking up in a cold sweat in the night as she often did, the nightmare still enshrouding her mind. She imagined stepping out to find comfort in her campfire, but instead of the lonely, dark night around it, seeing the warrior keeping watch, welcoming her over with that warm smile of his.

She had no idea what would be instore for them in the coming days and weeks, but as she moved to begin packing up the camp, Faelora silently felt grateful that the gods had seen fit to cross her path with someone else, someone with whom... she felt safe.